The silence

 The silence, Father,

I talk to myself

noticing the pulsing blood 

in my ears.

 You lie waned

upon the spine

that had no dreams left.

The earth's ceaseless heave,

the ocean's breath,

now it's time, its time,

stone-shaped,

perennial.

 Now you know

if it was all true or not,

but can't tell us.

 I am scared

of my own fogs,

as the plot unfolds to 

a new chapter

and we go on, 

taxes to pay,

forms to fill in,

voids to negate.

and beneath it all

the desire to flee

to wilderness

and isolation,

it's a strange sort of freedom.